


Early to Rise

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully wakes up early amid a pretty sweet dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early to Rise

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so very sorry for the flurry of fic lately, but my smut muse is coming onto me like a drunk Frohike and it's best not to deny her what she wants.

Dana Scully's internal alarm clock is annoyingly set for   
approximately 5:45 a.m. every day, including weekends. Including   
weekends when she wakes up in bed with a dark-haired sheet-  
stealing man who has no internal alarm clock at all.

The sound of his dripping faucet (he either needs to fix it or   
call the super, she'd reminded him twice this week alone) helps   
rouse her from the most delicious dream she's had in a long time.   
She used to dream uninhibited, fantasies rampant, living   
vicariously through the Dana in dreams who wasn't afraid of   
holding a hand a second too long, of lingering on a couch a   
little later than what would be considered professional.

That Dana, undauntedly seductive, walking up to him as he was   
wearing those seldom-seen glasses (his eyes would get so tired   
with that incessant reading, all of that damn reading when he   
should be looking at her) with his hair finally losing some of   
the gel-induced loft and falling over his forehead as he slouches   
over a file on his coffee table. That Dana Scully slides into his   
lap and forces him to avert his eyes from MUFON publications and   
Nessie sightings to plant the most unchaste kiss imaginable on   
those soft and inviting lips of his. And he leans back on the   
couch and lets dream Dana run her fingers up his t-shirt, over   
the irresistible lines of his torso, the muscles she'd glanced   
over one too many times that had finally driven her over the   
edge.

And he moans and shifts and groans, asks her what she's doing   
(but he really knows what she is doing and he isn't protesting in   
the least) and she pulls off her shirt and grinds into his lap   
and whispers into his ear every naughty little thing she wants   
him to do to her body.

The recurrence of this dream, cut off frustratingly short at 5:45   
a.m. on a Saturday, leaves her in a drowsy state of arousal as   
she glances at Mulder soundly sleeping on his stomach next to   
her. Despite his fairly impressive sexual appetite, Mulder is   
never one fond of waking any amount of time before sunrise, no   
matter what the occasion. She ponders it anyway--he doesn't have   
to be too awake (just awake enough to move a little, maybe a few   
thrusts, maybe make a little noise for her to help her out). It   
wouldn't take much.

And then he snores, a snarfy snore, one solitary snore like a   
protest to her potential advances. She sighs, settling her head   
back into the pillow, pressing her legs together and feeling a   
tingle. And then somehow her hand slides down the front of her   
panties (who knows, it's so early, and she's so sleepy, and her   
hand sometimes has a mind of its own), finding herself swollen   
and more than a little wet. She could be quiet. Really, really   
quiet, as she'd learned the hundreds of times she'd done the same   
thing in the room next to his on the road.

Her eyebrows reflexively rise with her soft gasp as her fingers   
follow their memorable route over sensitive spots, mapped out to   
perfection, and she settles her mind back on Wanton Dana on top   
of her partner on his couch, his gasps and his rough, roaming   
hands that push up over her breasts to make her squirm. That   
little bit of shock in his eyes, at his new (or only recently   
revealed) Scully, this brazen and forceful woman (not a partner,   
a woman).

Back in his bed she runs her fingers in circles over her   
clitoris, biting back a moan and casting one more sideways glance   
at Mulder, sleeping like a baby. She just needs to come (just   
once, just one little time). She closes her eyes and slides her   
fingers deep inside, a slick slide in and out, back up to rub a   
little harder, a little more frantic than she expected. And there   
goes naughty couch Dana, who slides down onto her knees in front   
of him, desperate to feel that hot, hard, forbidden part of him   
in her mouth. Of course he squeaks another "Scully, what are you   
doing, oh Scully, what are you doing," poor innocent Mulder   
completely wrapped around her pinky finger, completely at her   
mercy (and it's about damn time).

Her hips begin to roll against her hand, and she tries her best   
to stop moving, but she just can't help it, because she's now   
picturing pushing that naive, defenseless Mulder down on his   
couch cushions and she takes off her panties and tells him it's   
time for him to put his mouth to good use for once (that   
beautiful mouth that could drone on endlessly, painfully, about   
things she couldn't care less about but she gave him audience   
just to hear him say deliciously long words like   
"exsanguinations" and "metempsychosis")...

She whimpers at the thought of his head between her thighs (she   
doesn't bite that one back, an accident, or maybe on purpose) a   
little too loud and almost immediately his arm lands across her   
stomach, over her arm, trapping her hand in her panties.

"You need any help with that?" His voice is low and muffled   
against his pillow.

Her cheeks burn and she slides her hand out, out from under his   
heavy arm. She rests it on her breast, finding her nipple hard.   
Even more incriminating evidence. She looks at Mulder and he   
turns his head to face her, his eyes playful in the early morning   
light.

"Sorry, I just...I didn't want to wake you."

"Scully, some things are worth waking up for. But I don't mind   
you flying solo. I wouldn't mind watching, actually." His arm   
tightens around her bare waist and she laughs softly.

"Would you rather watch?" She arches one eyebrow at him.

"What's my other option here?"

"Helping me out." There she was, that wanton dream Dana, coming   
out of hiding (and this is what he does to her, again and again,   
and she used to feel so ashamed by his effect on her but now   
feels exceedingly grateful for it).

"Oh, I'd much rather help out than lie here helpless." His hand   
smoothes over her hip and thigh, back up, then into her panties.   
His hands are so big, his fingers are so...she shudders at the   
thought as he cups her. Her knees bend instinctively, her feet   
sliding up to part her legs for him.

"Wow, Scully." He inches closer to her and she threads a hand   
through his sleep-tousled hair. "A few more minutes and I   
would've been late to your party."

"Hmmm. You'd have been invited to the after party." She feels his   
warm breath on her cheek.

"I checked the mailbox, Scully, and I didn't get an invitation.   
And I'm saddened. I feel rejected, very rejected."

She smiles and turns her head to kiss him, a slow, probing kiss.   
He's unbelievably good at kissing (and she considers herself a   
good kisser, but no match to him and the way he works his tongue,   
curious and gentle). His fingers react accordingly, sliding   
through her flesh like his tongue slides into her mouth. He   
pushes two thick fingers into her and she pulls away with a moan.

"That's good," she breathes, pressing down against his hand.

"I know," he says, his mouth on her shoulder. "Do you remember   
the first time I did this to you?" His fingers slowly work in and   
out of her, curling gently, doing his crazy magic that makes her   
hips rise to him in rhythm.

"I do," she manages. "Blessing. Tennessee."

"Aptly named," he says, his fingers stirring tiny circles inside   
of her. "Snake country."

"Who knew snake venom was such an aphrodisiac," she whispers with   
a pull on his hair. He groans softly and drags his fingers up to   
her clitoris, an achingly slow journey. "I didn't expect you   
recover...oh yeah...quite so quickly after your   
hosp...hospitalization."

"I think I enjoyed you unbuttoning my shirt a little too much."   
He kisses the side of her neck with a moan low in his throat. She   
feels his growing hardness press against her leg and she sighs.   
"Scully, damn. You're so wet. It's driving me crazy."

Those words, words she only dreamed of hearing from him for   
years, and every time he says them, it's like hearing them for   
the first time. She is completely convinced that Mulder could   
recite the sexual acts he intended to perform on her and she   
could come merely from hearing him say those words (it's the way   
he says them, needy yet confident, so very, very confident. And   
that voice. It has to be illegal, to use that tone of voice while   
saying those words).

"Was it the shirt thing?" she asks, sliding her hand into his   
boxers, aching to touch him. He groans and bites the tender skin   
at the base of her neck. "Is that all it was?"

"Well, maybe it was a little more than that." He breathes out as   
her fingers run over the taut skin of his erection. "Oh, you and   
your hand...Maybe it's that I'd been dreaming of doing that...to   
you...for...yeah. I can't talk, Scully. Your hand has taken away   
my ability to form a coherent sentence."

"That sentence was pretty coherent," she moans, feeling his   
fingers running quick circles around her clit, pinching it,   
rolling it a little (it has to be illegal).

She squeezes her hand around him, pulling at him slowly. "Do you   
remember the first time I did this to you?"

"Something like...six hours later." His hips respond to her,   
grinding against her as he groans. "Six hours. And then...and   
then..."

"Mmmm, Mulder, you're right. You've lost your ability to   
form...oh, Jesus." He pushes his fingers deeply into her again   
and then rubs her clitoris harder, faster.

"I'm tired...of waiting," he whispers into her ear. "I wanna hear   
you come, Scully. I wanna see you. Now."

She whimpers, holding back for a moment, then remembers she   
doesn't have to any more. She isn't Dana in the adjoining room,   
she isn't platonic partner Dana (desperately biting a pillow so   
he couldn't hear her moan his name). These are his fingers, his   
hand, his mouth on her neck, his breath in her ear. Him begging   
her to come. And that slow, deep, aching build inside of her,   
under his fingers working her relentlessly, those fingers and his   
breath...

"Mulder..." She turns to face him again, meeting his gaze.

"Mmmmmm." He kisses her, his mouth crushing hers. And that's it,   
what pushes her over that sweet edge, a moan and a whimper into   
his mouth, pushing up against his hand, twisting his hair around   
her fingers. He moans into her mouth too, a growling response,   
his hips pushing against her as she grips him tightly.

She has to break for breath, her eyes wide open to the dawning   
day playing across the bedroom. His fingers slowly trace through   
her wetness, tingling every centimeter of skin they meet.

"Aren't you glad I crashed your party?" He nestles his face into   
her neck, pulling his hand out and sucking on his fingers. She   
moans a little at that (he knows what it does to her and that's   
why he does it) and stretches her legs out, pointing her toes.

"Mmmm. You're now entitled to all the prepackaged, reheated hors   
d'oeuvres and cheap wine you can handle." She turns to him,   
sliding her other hand behind his neck, pressing their bodies   
together.

"Scully. You never serve cheap wine." He pulls her close, his arm   
around her waist. He plants a kiss on the top of her head.

"Maybe you just haven't been to enough of my parties."

"You going to invite me more often? I'll even bring a bottle of   
Riesling."

"You..." She kisses him lazily. She could sleep again. She should   
sleep again. He won't mind. Sleep, dream, wake up (with the   
sweetest realization that he wasn't only a dream this time).   
"Always invited from now on."

"Mmmm, when's the next one?" he whispers, his breathing slow,   
evenly paced.

"Six hours," she murmurs against his chest. "Your place."


End file.
